Archive | Artists Book Cornucopia

Americans have been parasitically entwined with the Western landscape through oil for over a century, developing in time to its own mythology. Whipstock by AB Gorham is a curious puzzle devoted to this lore. A considered experimental piece, it lyrically examines the way oil has seeped into our land, our economy, our history, and our lives.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Roughly the size of a CD outside its outer casing, Whipstock unfolds with booklet flaps left and right; each booklet is connected at the middle and unfolds both horizontally and vertically. Within the handsome outer case, there is a series of numbers 1-36 that snake through in rows (reading let to right, right to left), punctuated with small holes. These holes pepper the booklets at various points, almost mimicking a drill piercing through the dirt. “Oil,” or rather small blobs of brown ink, are interspersed throughout, much like a miniature spill soaking into various pages. The numbers appear again within the booklets, and they are a guide for reading Whipstock in an order, although one could easily read without that direction. Finally, the case cover contains imprints of imagery that repeats later in the book without color, appearing to be linked to drilling.

These numbers force the reader to “dig” through the work; one might start right and discover the next number is on the opposing booklet. One could also flip the pages like a traditional book, but then be flummoxed by the next number disappearing—or rather, this trail pushes the reader to alter how they have read thus far by unfolding vertically. Gorham is quite strategic in this layout, deploying a metaphor of burrowing and uncovering while engaging with the work.

And now, the content of the pages: Whipstock is a mostly linear yet stream of consciousness/poetic rendering of the history of oil production, from the geologic to more intimate human-scale concerns. Even within pages, it can be challenging to know what to read first, and each reading can be unique. Words are placed in a circular fashion, as lists, diagonal, upside down, and sometimes as shapes. They are as much words as pattern, and the reader needs to turn and move the book to really be able to read in full. Whipstock is not a passive engagement to say the least!

This language encompasses all aspects of oil, such as legalese on the vagaries of oil production detailed in #13.

There are two columns side by side with the right repeating the left column’s words but crossing out sections, leaving the reader to ponder the significance of this directed act of partial removal.

Elsewhere, the penetration of the ground is vividly described as in #19:

In #29, we get a brief but incisive list of uses for oil besides heating and transportation; mundane items like nail polish, footballs, and the “ink on these pages” occur. This crucial inventory shows how interconnected we are to oil in every facet of modern life, whether we are aware or not.

Prior to this is entry #28, which details a pipe bursting and leaking into farmland soil; Gorham seems to be demonstrating the dependence of oil in this country is not without ecological consequences.

Continuing through the book, the destruction inherent to oil production is pursued further in #32:

“oil leaches into soil into water chemical water leaches into ground seeps into.”

Oil is everywhere, and despite its origination in the deep earth from dinosaur bodies and ancient flora, the toxic outcomes are far from natural. We see this accentuated in oil daubs such as #33, which also spreads over small grids. Are these fences? Or perhaps farms? A muted, earthy color palette of dulled greens and browns compliment the focus of land, and the shapes within these printed imagery shift between abstract and exact, much in the same way language is used throughout Whipstock.

As a climax of all this flowing rumination on oil in the West, the very instrument of removing oil from the earth is at last displayed: a brightly colored oil derrick, prominent and direct in pages #34 and #36.

There are wheat plants printed over sections, suggesting a relationship: rising wheat, rising derrick, with wheat superseding and overlaying the derrick, signifying its dominant importance. The interplay underlines our manipulation of the earth towards our own ends, regardless of cost. AB Gorham has created an interrogative work on the depth of human intervention in the land, leaving the readers questioning their complicity in this and just how much the oil industry’s positives outweigh some disastrous negatives.

Today’s post features three books that utilize folding techniques to create forms that carry content or even become the primary content of the book.

Kimberly Maher

The wrap-around case that holds Kimberly Maher’s pop-up carousel book Crooked is fairly plain-Jane except for an angled flap on the front cover. The coolish gray of the cover and use of a hidden closure (magnets) quietly beckon as I lift the angled flap with anticipation.

Carousel books often shine most brightly when displayed upright and fully open; happily Crooked also reads very well flat, as a ‘bookie book,’ allowing for a more focused and leisurely pace through the book than is feasible when displayed upright. The text and imagery, printed pochoir and letterpress in a limited palette of blues and grays, move from outside (a stormy wind illustrated by a swirling funnel cloud that, affixed to both sides of the spread, rises as the page is turned), to interior domestic spaces with stairs in the second spread and a pop-up four-poster bed in the fourth.

My favorite spread is the center spread with its grandfather clock on the left page. Rather than popping up or opening, the clock swells into a sweet curve as the page is turned. The other side of that spread features a door opening to reveal both text and pop up image. The last page takes me back outside again, to the garden, and is a two-layer spread.

Crooked also displays well. What I first notice on setting it for display as how nicely the angle of the cover flap mimics the angle of the interior pages.

Maher’s text is composed from select nursery rhyme verses and lyrics in which the absurdity of the narrative is amusing. Her intent is

to entice the viewer into a false sense of pacification by subtly revealing a much darker illusion she examines defense mechanisms-notions of escape, breaking free from restraints or oppression.

Barbara Milman

Barbara Milman’s piece Unnatural Histories #33 – Seaside Stories uses folds to create shapes that not only carry imagery, but also become specific and non-interactive shapes, held static in this case. Although the viewer isn’t able to move the pages, there is still a sensation of motion, created by graphics and forms that repeat in a way that mimics the ebb and flow of the ocean.

Milman’s receiving a gift of several cigar boxes prompted the creation of this series; this particular piece has a one page text related to climate change affixed to the inner front cover; the wave forms are on the boxes deeper, right side.

Suzanne Sawyer

Suzanne Sawyer’s To Make You See is a single sheet Turkish Fold housed in an elegant black cloth case binding. A square label of sorts is on the front cover, although the label doesn’t have an actual title. The label instead has a few ghostly and randomly placed letters amid intersecting red lines.

Once open, the orientation is appropriate for reading both the colophon and a brief historical snippet about Al-Mutanabbi Street. To read the rest of the textual content it is easiest to rotate the piece ninety degrees. Three quotes, one by Joseph Conrad and two by Lucius Annaeus, Seneca are laid out in various sizes; Conrad’s quote is in larger, and darker type. The words To Make You See, along with intersecting gray lines (a map of Baghdad), form a backdrop for the quotes.

With very little text, this piece provides historical context alongside well chosen quotes. I was familiar with the words of Joseph Conrad, remarking on the power of the written word, but not with the words of Seneca. Seneca’s quotes strike a nice balance, including words about mankind’s search for meaning and a method for finding inner peace.

Rare is the book that doesn’t rely on folds; there are the utilitarian folds of the codex bound book, the over-the-top magic of flexagons and magic-wallets, the accordion so well suited for display books, pop-ups, pullouts, map folds – the list is a long one.

This post features two artists – Sammy Seung-min Lee and Joshua Orr, whose works incorporate thoughtful use of the fold as a way to marry concept and content.

Sammy Lee’s Three Willows Bindery

Before even opening three Three Willows Bindery by Sammy Seung-min Lee I suspect I will be captivated. Rather than being bound on the left, the book is opened by flipping the pages up towards the top edge, bound using this an exposed spine coptic stitch. The skewed and asymmetrical shape of the book hints at architectural content as the graphic depicts an aerial landscape view. The graphic is of raised shapes cut from material (printed paper?) that has an embossed wood grain, a lighter tone of brown than the surface underneath. When viewed from either side there is physical topography created by mountains and valleys of pleated paper. When I do open the book, the stage is set. I know I am entering a specific environment.

The contents of the book are almost entirely visual. The only text, aside from the title is the dedication “For Three Friends” and the few words that appear as part of the landscape on street and building signs or on the included architectural drawings. The visual narrative begins with a journey through an overgrown area littered and gritty, a vacant and abandoned city lot. In Lee’s words, the project “documents the personal narrative of discovering and reinvigorating a forgotten space.”

To create a virtually wordless work that tells a tale of a specific time and place in a way that engages an uninformed audience using shapes, both physical and visual, images both photographic and graphic and color, but no words, is not an easy task. Lee has achieved a successful balance between over simplification and complexity.

Lee explains:

The book is comprised of three different types of geometric pages, varying in shape and size. The pages’ contents can expand and interact in multiple permutations based on their folds, much like a map can be refolded in various ways. The pleats of the pages also resemble the topography of the land: the overall shape of the book mirrors the site.

Joshua Orr – Deluge and Shifting

Deluge is a slim, lightweight volume housed in the three sided box. On first examination the book presents as an assortment of printed shapes, in cool tones on lightweight folded sheets. With each turning of the page there are new patterns and combinations of patterns to consider. Closer examination reveals a very tidily placed textual narrative.

To access the narrative requires more interaction with the individual pages. For example a page folded in quarters is sewn in, the top half can be lifted, exposing the other side of the printed sheet. To read the phrase “tides move and swell” requires lifting the folded page towards the top edge of the book to access (thus moving the page and swelling its size).
Just as I settle in to the predictable rhythm of turning a page and lifting it to access the next phrase, the format shifts to folded page that extends horizontally. At about this same point in the book the imagery is decidedly more complex and chaotic with more of the page surface covered with marks that appear in two colors rather than one. The final graphic is of flattened spiral shapes trapped behind a rectangular grid that reads as a barrier, or fence.

The book has a flow that brings to mind The Beaufort Scale, an empirical measure that relates wind speed to observed conditions at sea or on land. The slow pace of reading the text combined with the use of lightweight papers, muted colors in neutral tones that do not shout loudly or distract are a striking and effective contradiction to the agony presented in the text.

Shifting

Orr’s attention to detail in Shifting starts with the case, a shimmery duotone green and gold cloth (yet another work without a label on the outside . . . Is this a trend?). A livelier green tone paper chemise is bound into the case and houses the book itself. The placement of the colophon on the outer case means I am privy to production details before I open the book itself.

Thumb slots make pulling the book out of the chemise an easy and enjoyable task. The front cover of the book is indicated by a circular graphic surrounded by speckles, printed golden brown. This graphic is repeated in other earthy tones and various sizes inside the book itself, which consists solely of a single sheet, folded Turkish map style. Pithy and quiet, the entire text totals seven words. No more are needed; the project is a complete presentation of what is evidently a personal exploration of domestic realities.

I find Shifting compelling in that lacks a strong and obvious point of view. I have returned to its quiet homily again and again throughout the exhibition. The gift of a work like this is that is triggers a state of mind without expectation that my state of mind reflects or mimics that of Orr.

Three of the books in this years’ Cornucopia are particularly rewarding haptically. All three are one-of-a-kind books relying on touch to be fully appreciated.Sadly few of you blog readers will be able to personally delight in the sensuousness of these works. Even so, I hope you enjoy reading about the works of Servane Briand, Elizabeth Holster and Beata Wehr. More details about all three can be found in the online catalog.

Touching the outside covers of Servane Briand’s déchirures (made from a cashmere sweater) is comforting in the way that stroking a cat can be comforting.This indeed is one of her intentions – to make a book that is ‘comfy’ on the outside, with spiky content within.

Briand introduces another kind of soft to the book’s covers with laid on bits of Kozo paper, torn at the edges and printed with a series of words that reference the book’s interior contents. Bigger lumps take the form of embroidered shapes. The back cover is solid softness.

Torn paper edges peek out from the head and tail edges in a pleasing repetition of what the torn paper edges on the cover. Upon opening an 8 panel accordion is revealed, each panel, including end panels, with a printed image of something spiky from Briand’s current geography, California. Included are images of sharp edge pinecones, various cacti, the pointy bark of a palm tree’s trunk.

I appreciate an artists’ giving consideration to the back side of accordion books and this Briand has done with a composition of vertical, straight edge strips of kozo printed with layers of text and purply red unryu, simulating the red of gashes in the skin. The compositions work both as individual panels and when the entire text block is unfolded (to a length of 40 inches). A horizontal band of text spans the three right panels, tidily placed in the bottom fifth of the panels. The text gives the reader a few factoids about the Cactus family. I learn (or am reminded of something I suspect I learned at some point in school) that the spines Cacti not only defend but provide shade that lowers the plant’s water loss through transpiration.

Briand mentions a few things ungleanable from examining the book itself:

Déchirures was born in translation! I was amused by the term “softcover” and intrigued by the emphasis that exists in the American publishing world bewteen “hardover” and “softcover”. I started to work on a series which is a “jeu de mots” on the French translation of “softcover,” a reflection on the wider use of softbinding in France — even for first editions — and a statement on the invaluable feedback we get from touching a book (something lost in digital editions).

This book has been sold.

Quite different from the soft comfiness of Briand’s use of a cashmere sweater is Beata Wehr’s Blue Book About the Past.The book is housed in a blue canvas pouch with fold over flap. The pouch is encrusted with paint and texture, its surfaces appear pebbly and rough and also reminds me of the pock-marked images of lunar scapes, but in bright and beautiful variations of cobalt and cerulean blues.

My eyes have not deceived, the surface is rough to the touch, the protrusions unyielding and nearly as abrasive as coarse sandpaper.

The book itself has artifacts that, taken out of context, could be from some distant, unknown land. Closer examination renders the objects more familiar – bits of rusty metal and wire, 35 mm sections of film stitched in place through the sprocket holes, broken off metal keys, spiky organic bits that I later learn are agave thorns, arrayed in vertical compositions through the 4 pages and on the covers of the pamphlet sewn text block.

I especially appreciate that the stitch lines are left exposed on the back of each page so that a page spread shows the patterns of the stitch lines on the left, with objects stitched into place on the right. Mechanically simple, the pages turn well and lay flat when asked to. The challenge of working with additive objects that have bulk that is met well in this book.

Beata says

The pages of this book are made out of old painting cut in pieces. I stitched to them three kinds of objects: old slides of my artist’s books, agave thorns from the desert I live at now and found metal pieces, whose history is unknown to me. All of them speak about time and transience and create short stories on every other page.

The cover of Elizabeth Holster’s book, Black and White, resembles a portfolio; the only surface treatment strips of mulberry, one each front and back. On opening, I am pleased to discover a work with page spreads that bring to mind the oversize coffee table monographs; the ones with full bleed images running across the entire spread; the clutter of explanatory text appearing elsewhere in the tome.

Each of the 7 page spreads, that include both pastedowns, is a skillful composition of mostly solid (i.e. not patterned or very subtly patterned), neutrally toned geometric shapes. The shapes are a combination of various papers, fabrics, buttons and leathers, some held in place with tidily accomplished hand stitching, some cut, others torn.

What is exciting about this book is the abundance of shape and texture accomplished with a very basic set of materials. Details such as the overstitched scalloped hem of a piece of fabric, or the slightly skewed placement of shapes are not fussy additions but rather thoughtful contributions to the overall image.

Holster explains that this book

explores the idea that while we tend to talk about things as either / or, in reality there are a host of variations between black and white.

In fact, although muted and subdued, the palette of the book is many steps removed from black, white and gray.

While on display at the gallery, I have given myself the treat of turning the page at the end of the day, so the first glance at this book (placed flat and opened on a low pedestal) the following day seems fresh and new. I do wish there were more pages.

This year’s Artists’ Book Cornucopia features three works that fall into the 3 inches or less US standard for miniature books. All are editioned works and all three utilize an accordion format. All are well crafted and feature content that fits their diminutive size well.

Louisa Boyd’s Stardust is housed in a black cloth clamshell, sans label. The fit is snug. The book is wrapped in a brown leather wrapper with hand-applied crayon lines, leather dots and metal foil. The top most panel has a series of vertical, but not exactly parallel lines that, on first glance, look like wood grain. Two cross-directional lines, also slightly angled, begin on the cover and wrap all the way around the wrapper. The bottom third of the panel is additionally adorned with silver foil and leather circles. The wrapper is held closed with a leather thong that is a bit too long and unfortunately detracts from this otherwise refined miniature.

Stardust’s riches are made apparent when the wrapper is fully opened. The interior lining mimics photographs of earth masses on planets viewed from space and is also slightly corpuscular. These shapes, printed in orange over cool black, are overlaid with gray markings that emulate celestial maps.

The text block itself is a concertina. One side has surface applied markings in rust, ochre and black, a landscape of sorts, with spiraling masses above the tree dotted horizon. Above the horizon line holes of varying sizes are punched throughout the text panels. The back side of the concertina is not imaged, but the punched holes create a pared down version of the front side image.

Because the concertina is only half the width when folded of the wrapper that contains it it is possible to see both the text’s imagery and the wrapper liner’s imagery simultaneously. I find this very appealing.

Says Boyd:

Stardust is part of a series of work that considers themes of infinity, mortality and the journey of the human soul and spirit.

The small but assertive An Inflammatory Guide: Banned & Challenged Books You Should Read by Jessica Spring shouts out with a fluorescent, hurt the eye orange cover that mimics a match book cover. This book also does not have the title on the cover but instead has the directive ‘open mind before striking’.

The accordion fold book uses every available panel to present quotes from a variety of sources, alternating with lists of titles printed in black ink, with their offense printed in orange. So we learn that Huxley’s Brave New World, Alexie’s The Absoluteley True Diary of a Part-Time Indian and Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird are among the most challenged books of 2011 – the reason? Racism.

The case for Memories Unfolded is unusual. The back piece has a back cover, spine piece and front tab that is only half the width of the text block. The front cover is attached only to the text block, and not the rest of the cover.This design allows the book to have the protection of a case binding at the spine, but still allows the spine to be exposed after opening. It also creates an opportunity for more than one loop closure at the front; one holds the front edge closed, the other holds the spine piece in place. The placement of the ‘button’ part of the closure, made of a spiral of dark brown linen cord, mimics the placement of a door handle. The front cover of the book along with the partial tab, has paper cutout images of traditional Korean doors.
In another artists’ hands these details could be construed as overly fussy, or come across as using adornment for adornment’s sake. In Kang’s work, these elements not only introduce ongoing themes that reflect the simplicity and value of form and ritual, they present a primary theme of the book:

I have created this shadow book with paper-cut-out images of Korean traditional doors. The process of cutting the pattern of the doors to create shadows recalls my memories of my grandmother in her old house. When I was inside, I could see the shadow of Grandmother cast on the paper doors from out side. Grandmother’s presence as a shadow on the door has remained a strong image in my mind. Unlike many other doors, the traditional rice paper door does not totally block the inside and out from each other. It only creates the concept of this side and the other while simultaneously connecting them to each other. When this accordion book is unfolded, the pages are shaped as closed, connecting the memories of my Grandmother, who is now in the other side, with myself in this world.

When open and fully extended the duo layer pages present a variety of traditional door patterns, cut out and backed with paper that is somewhere between transparent and opaque. In low light, the patterns are subtle, with stronger lights, the lines of the doors cast shadows. Kang’s work often focuses on the endless circulation of life, in this case she uses light creating shadow as metaphor for life creating death. Her text, minimal and perfect, is revealed when a single folded panel is opened.

Regarding concept Kang says:

Death is not the end, but the other side of life and a part of it. The lost come back as a memory.

Each story, the fragments of memory, is spread out on this screen. The screen is a metaphor of the inseparability of life and death. Light from one side casts a shadow on the other, just as life, this world is inseparable from death, the world beyond.

The two books That’s What You Write About – Give & Take And IN THE FACE OF IT from C&C Press live in custom boxes; boxes that are more enticing than most both because of their lively colors, and that their design and construction includes accent colors along the joint. I like things that are square so I’m first drawn to the blue and red box with Morton Marcus stamped on the spine.

I open the box to find not a square box, but one that is round. To meet the challenge of binding a shape that has no vertical fold the book is stab bound in a double x pattern that only goes front to back, not around the spine edge.
An inevitability with stab bindings is that they don’t open as well as I think books should. This one, however, has a nice deep spine piece that allows it to be gripped in one hand, while the other hand turns the pages, applying light pressure as needed to hold a page spread open. When I hold a book like this, I want to stand up; and when I stand up with a book of written words I feel like I should be reading aloud. Perfect – poems enjoy living in sound waves in addition to living on printed pages.

The book presents two pieces by poet Morton Marcus, presented one alongside the other rather than one following the other. That’s What Your Write About is printed on the left of each spread, on letterpress printed blue lined paper, in a rendition of the poet’s own hand. The hand that gets to turn the pages (in my case my right hand) is thrilled to feel the impressed blue lines, while my eyes appreciate the red vertical line that simulates that blue-lined paper that was endemic in my youth, the linespace decreasing as my handwriting grew more skillful and sophisticated.

Looking at this book my mind wanders, trying to remember the last time I felt the thrill of excitement that looking at a stack of blue-lined paper used to bring. That this paper is now something I feel nostalgic about isn’t something I’d have ever predicted.

Back to the book: the right page of each spread presents Give & Take in a large typeface that once again has me waxing nostalgic as it looks like (and lo and behold, on reading the colophon I learn that it is indeed) the type face used for ‘old timey’ playbills. From the colophon I learn that Give and Take was printed using Playbill wood type, found in the basement of a Seattle boxing ring.
Sher and Matt say:

“That’s What You Write About – Give & Take” features two poems by renowned poet and author, Morton Marcus. While preserving the integrity of the author’s original text, the decision to marry these two poems and their respective titles creates a third poem in which urban and rural themes interact. This third poem focuses on the environmental impact of urban life.

Although IN THE FACE OF IT from top view looks like a case bound book the spine is exposed, with the title printed vertically along the outer folds before the pages are folded and bound, making the title visible on the spreads between sections. Without a spine to interfere the book lies flat, inviting lengthy perusal of spreads that include multi-color printed woodblock images and text. Both the writings and original woodcuts are by poet and book artist Gary Young creating a serenity and flow throughout the book.

Sher and Matt say:

IN THE FACE OF IT contains original poems and woodcuts by poet and book artist Gary Young of Greenhouse Review Press. The book is dedicated to Elizabeth Sanchez, Young’s close friend and mentor. His series of poems are a response to her death. The exposed spine sewing was chosen to the reveal the printed title. The registration of the print on the folds of the pages gradually ascends. The effect is that the reading experience visually reflects the temporal nature of the poet’s grieving process.

The recipient of this year’s Juror Choice Purchase Award is Sarah Bryant’s book, Fond. Fond is available, along with Sarah’s other work, for purchase here.

Fond

is an investigation of our impulse to collect and preserve small, valueless objects. These objects help us create create a simple, personal narrative. A “fond” is a collection of documents organically accumulated by a person or institution. Using halftone photographs, color silhouettes, and a winding sinew of text, I constructed an abstracted and personal history of ten objects from my own collection.

The slim volume is housed in a duo-tone chemise of cloth the color of marigolds with grayish brown Zerkall paper strips overlaid at the head and tail. A label is on the lower right of the chemise’s front, arcing up at an angle from left to right. Intriguingly this label does not mention the title of the work, that tidbit is reserved for the book’s interior title page. Instead, the chemise label has this phrase “constitutes a piece of evidence about the past.” The book also lacks a spine label. The book’s front cover has another paper inset label with overlaying sentences printed in a light tone forming the background for the darker printed phrase “an account of an act or occurrence”. This label is in an organic shape (think lanceolate leaf shape) that repeats throughout the text block. The book is covered with tan book cloth, bound in a flat back drum leaf binding. As is consistently the case with Sarah’s work the book is impeccably designed, printed and bound.

Fond, at about 7×4 inches closed, is a wonderful size to hold in two hands. It functions well, a fact that is much appreciated in this case because text and image go across the gutters on each spread. The first several pages introduce the ten objects with narrative; the appendix or book legend (nearly as many pages as the narrative section) includes, along with an image of the object, its descriptive name, weight, material, place and year of acquisition. A helpful centimeter rule is also provided, printed along the left side of the appendix’s first spread.

Following the title page, the narrative section opens with an image that is a graphic shape of one of the 10 objects – the nut. We learn from the appendix that the nut was acquired in Prague in 2003 and weighs 5 grams. Sarah’s text begins: “The nut constitutes a piece of evidence about the past. It is the sum of past achieve…”

That sentence continues on to the next page, alongside graphic and textual introductions to four more of the ‘fond’ objects. For each object the description is started on one spread and moves through the book, along with the continuation of the description of the other introduced objects. Turning the page gives introduction to three more objects, the next page the final two. The text visually weaves and overlaps just as these objects have layered and woven through Sarah’s recent years, The final page spread of this section has all the sentences converging into one dark block of inkiness. Turn the page and, a whisper of the book’s governing motivation “I recollect”.

Savoring this book involves moving back and forth from page to page, perhaps to pick up an earlier thread of a particular object’s tale and following it through; then paging back to begin the narrative about another object. The drum leaf binding, with its slightly stiffer pages, facilitates this forward/backward movement. The wonder is that, although there are so many stories overlapping, the book pages are spare and clean.

Body of Inquiry by Casey Gardner

This is a work that succeeds on every level: the text, both humorous and pithy, is engaging, the craft and material selection superb, the design and layout a balance of image, information and space.

The presentation is such that one is informed, enticed and amused before even getting to the ‘insides’ of the work – a corporeal codex, the inside story.

We read that the work was inspired by Torso Woman, a genuine anatomical model of serene evisceration. Mounted on the interior central panel, appropriately placed on a brush worked depiction of an armless, legless female, who does, however, have a head), wearing a stoic (or is it serene?) expression is an organically shaped book that includes overlapping shapes reminiscent of the human anatomy books of the fifties.

On the exterior of the central panel is a diagram depicting “How to approach something”, as well as Gardner’s dedication to many inspiring teachers, one in particular who made ‘learning an immense fantastical tale.’

The Universe by Cathryn Miller

The Universe, made as a conscious act of re-purposing a found book, has quite a different look and feel than most other altered books I see. Miller’s purpose is very specific:

In making these works I take existing popular science books and re-configure them into objects that reveal the content of the text and images in a new way. The subject matter of the book determines the final reconstructed form.

The three ‘volumes’ of this work each contain dozens of Froebel stars (a Froebel star is a three-dimensional star made of four strips of paper) – the stars fitting exactly into the box cavity when closed and spilling forth when the box lid is opened for viewing.

Hokusai No Yurei by Dennis Yuen

Unwrapping Dennis Yuen’s book is a rare treat. This physically lightweight object morphs into something of unexpectedness weightiness with the unwrapping of each layer of the cotton cord that makes up its bulk.

Using lengths of cotton cord suggestive of Yurei’s (a Japanese folklore character) long hair, the book successfully evokes a sense of the ethereal outside of the specific context of Japanese folklore.